


Maybe the Beacon I See is Death

by AnotherWorld3111



Series: What if it's Your Thoughts You Want to Silence? [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Depression, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Gen, I Tried, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Stanford, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Stand Alone, Stanford Era, Suicidal Thoughts, there's nothing happy about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15849753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWorld3111/pseuds/AnotherWorld3111
Summary: But it's still the only light I see.





	Maybe the Beacon I See is Death

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be frank here. Trigger Warnings apply.  
> I suffer from depression. As much as there are times when I doubt that I of all people could have been diagnosed with it, that doesn't change the fact that I self harm. I have been admitted to the hospital to be kept under observation for a week because of an attempt and continuous thoughts.  
> I try to be happy. I try to keep on moving. God knows, the past two months have been... they've been a lot better than I felt in a while.  
> But I was only ignoring the darkness in the background.  
> Lately, it's been getting worse. I haven't been getting suicidal, and I'm trying hard to use coping mechanisms in terms of self harm. I've been writing shit like crazy, trying to vent out feelings. I'm still not sure if I want to post this, or maybe I'll take it down.  
> But its getting hard to function again, and sure, I'll talk to my psychiatrist, but there's only so much she can increase my dosage before  
> I don't know  
> But.  
> I'm going to keep trying. Cause whether I want to or not, I'm gonna keep my eyes open for the day when the light that threatens to make me blind is back and overwhelming that darkness within me, extinguishing it again for the time being.  
> I have a reason to live and I just gotta remember that  
> I have a reason to keep going, and I will find it. I'll stick to it.  
> For now, one day at a time.

He could be surrounded by his father and brother, and not a thing would change.

Sure, he was joking along with dad, a grin so large it was practically splitting his face in two as Sam grumbled and tossed things at Dean. Dodging, the smile didn’t fade.

Not until Sam finally retreated to the bathroom in a fit, unable to go anywhere else. Dad looked back down to his weapons, chuckles dying away, and the smile fell off Dean’s face, smooth as liquid. 

His face felt as blank as he did within him. 

All traces of joy he’d previously displayed only moments before? They felt foreign, as if it was someone completely different who had portrayed the happy, content man Dean was playing at.

Dean didn’t know who he was anymore.

oOo

He could just be with dad, and Sam could be off at Stanford. The absence of his brother ached as strongly as a missing limb, but even that painful pang felt foreign, distant. Wrong.

There was something else in his chest, this heavy feeling, and he wasn’t sure he could entirely blame it on Sam. Not when it felt too empty, too heavy… and like it had nothing to do with Sam, because it couldn’t. Not when it had been present since even before Sam left.

It couldn’t be because of Sam, but it couldn’t be because of dad either, Dean surmised, as he patched himself up. They were running out of thread, but that was only because he’d nearly used it all on John. Werewolves could get the best of the Winchesters after all, but it was dad and Dean who were left standing.

Except for that big black hole of nothing yet everything dark within him made Dean wonder if he was really there or not.

oOo

He could be just by himself, nursing a whiskey in one hand, a rag that was rapidly getting soppy wet with his blood in the other, and it was only the pain lighting his leg up like it was on fire that made Dean pause.

He couldn’t feel… he couldn’t feel the  _ lack  _ of feeling he’d held within him. Paradoxical as it was, he’d been starting to get tired of… of feeling tired. Of feeling weird. Wrong. Like everything he was doing, be it getting out of bed or elegantly rolling out of the literal fire’s path, required every ounce of willpower in Dean to get through.

But this fire in his leg, the fire that was leading to blood dripping onto the already stained motel floor under him, through the rag that he needed to burn at this point…

Dean found his savior. And it felt like a beacon in the darkness he couldn’t remember a time without.

oOo

He was on a hunt, and he wasn’t as careful. What were a few dings here and there when it wasn’t hindering Dean from hunting? Who wouldn’t get bruised after being tossed around by a vengeful spirit? And if Dean could have avoided them, well. He was more preoccupied with just focusing on the spirit, so he couldn’t really pay attention to his well being.

Except he was. Every time he landed wrong, the air being punched out of him, his ribs threatening to crack and break under pressure, Dean closed his eyes, for only the briefest of seconds. He relished in the pain. This close to death, and it was the most alive he’d felt in years.

oOo

He could be back with his brother, on the road, facing down the potential of endless hunts with his brother at his side, where he belonged. For all intents and purposes, everything should be as right as Dean’s demeanor would suggest.

But just as Sam would turn away in an attempt to hide his mourning, to hide his grief over losing Jess…

Dean would take those seconds to ponder upon the lack of ability to grieve for himself.

It was a catch twenty-two, trying to think it out.

oOo

Sam could be talking about leaving, back to school even though Jess was gone. Leaving, like he didn’t have a reason to stay, like he didn’t give a damn about his brother.

And Dean should have felt heartbroken. His brother was talking about walking away again, but all Dean could feel was… nothing.

It was nothing new. But it was every bit frustrating. Even more so that Dean didn’t… couldn’t feel frustrated.

He just felt tired.

He nodded at Sam in understanding, not saying anything else.

oOo

He could be under the power of this psychic kid with friggin Obi Wan power’s, pointing a sniper at himself. His mind was a blank slate, controlled as it was by someone else.

Hours later, under the sunrise, and flanked by police officers, Dean wondered how it would feel, what kind of clean slate would he get to experience if he actually pulled the trigger next time.

Next time.

Maybe.

Beside him, Sam brushed against his arm before separating to walk over to the other side of the car.

The warmth of the touch stung Dean’s skin through the layers even as he felt hollow and cold as a stone deep inside.

He wished if it was possible to claw it out.

But no matter how much he scratched, that feeling only seemed to reside deeper within him, unreachable. Unsolvable. Indestructible.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is how I feel. I have trouble believing it's depression at times, and other times, I'm too tired to think anything. So, who knows?


End file.
